


dancing lessons

by vienna_salvatori



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Aromantic Sasha Racket, Asexual Sasha Racket, Gen, aroaceingtheline2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29676486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_salvatori/pseuds/vienna_salvatori
Summary: AroAceingtheLine2021 prompt 3: Dancing.Eldarion tries to teach Sasha how to dance. It doesn't go well.
Relationships: Eldarion & Sasha Racket
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: AroAceing the Line





	dancing lessons

Sasha’s shoulders are itching.

It might be the way her hair shifts across her back as she moves- longer than she’d prefer, far longer. If it were up to her, she’d keep it short, close enough to her scalp that anyone who tries to grab for it will be left scrabbling for purchase. (but it’s not up to her.) It might be the lack of her leather jacket, locked in a cupboard upstairs instead of snug around her shoulders. (not by choice.) It might be the silk sliding against her skin, smooth like oil but with none of the comfort she associates with inky night. (if it were up to her, she’d at least be wearing black.) It might be the sharp eyes that track her every movement, and the certainty that there are even more, hidden around corners, catching her movements in reflections. (if it were up to her, she’d smash every mirror in this damned house. But it’s not up to her.) It might be all of these things.

She wants to go home.

‘I don’t know what your problem is, Sasha’, Eldarion tells her. Frustrated. Anger simmering. Dangerous, Sasha knows, but-

‘goodness knows you’re graceful enough when you want to be,’ the woman continues. ‘I know you’re capable of this, and frankly, I’m losing patience. Again.’

Eldarion places one hand on her hip- Sasha tries to hide a flinch- and raises Sasha’s hand with her other. She feels her shoulders hunch in, automatic-like, shields herself as best as she can, readies to throw a punch, but-

‘Move with me,’ her tutor orders, and the music starts and Sasha’s dragged forward in a vice-like grip. She doesn’t stumble, of course- she’s Sasha Racket, she doesn’t _stumble_ , even as her heart stutter-stops in her chest and the half-glimpsed sight of a dozen reflections moving in sync sends jolts of fear arching down her spine. Then the moment passes, the reflections resolve themselves into the images they are, and her panic condenses into a razor-sharp ball where Eldarion’s hand rests on her hip, another where their fingers tough, and a vague prickling across her collarbones leading down, down, _down_.

Sasha breathes, even if her lungs aren’t entirely on board with the idea, and tries to remember how to move.

The thing is, Eldarion is right. She’s graceful when she wants to be- scaling buildings, slipping between shadows, and, of late, quite literally bouncing off the walls in every doomed attempt to get _out_ of here. Sasha doesn’t stumble, she doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t trip over her own feet or tread on others’ toes. She can keep time, too- counting steady heartbeats as she waits for the right moment to slide, catlike, through a window. Running with Brock, footsteps in perfect sync despite his longer strides. By all rights, she should be good at this.

With her tutor’s hand digging into her hip, cold metal rings burning through whisper-thin silk, _movement_ and _grace_ and _timing_ seem just as distant as the dark safety of her home, so very far below.

They spin. Awkwardly, or at least Sasha does. Eldarion is as graceful as always, perfectly composed, only the slightest twitch in her right eye giving away her frustration as Sasha fumbles her way through a turn. They keep moving. Sasha struggles to keep pace, which is ridiculous- she could _throw_ this woman over her shoulder like nothing, she’s all skin and bone and corsetry. Yet Eldarion glides at a stately pace and Sasha shuffles after, eyes on the floor, begging to gods she doesn’t particularly trust or care about for this to all be over soon.

Sasha hates this- hates all of it. She wants to go _home_ , back to the dark and the cold and huddling in Brock’s old jacket and scavenging for food because even when Barrett could afford to feed them all, it’s easier to keep everyone in line if they’re hungry. Back home, where the knives are knives and not razors hidden in smiles. Where someone who _likes_ you will just say it, and you can tell them exactly where to shove it, and run across the rooftops if it all gets too much.

Here-

Here, dancing means balls, means other people. Other people mean stares, means her lanky limbs on display for all to see, lightweight material and not nearly enough of it as her only protection against the stares. And these people- these people will like her, Sasha thinks, small and delicate-looking and all her knives locked away in the same box as her lockpicks, and if she dances they’ll think she’s one of them, on offer like one of them, and then and then and then-

Barrett seems to think she’ll grow into it all, but he’s also pleasantly surprised whenever she rejects yet _another_ boy or girl who seems far more interested in _her_ than in her knife tricks and jumps. There’s a small part of Sasha which doesn’t want to grow into it, ever, just to prove him wrong, and another part which wants to find someone tomorrow, just so that he’ll be annoyed. Both feel like a bad idea, but she’s not entirely sure how much longer she’ll care.  
That’s not what it’s supposed to be about, though. She doesn’t think. She’s pretty sure “annoying my great uncle” isn’t usually the sole motivating factor behind people looking for a relationship. And Eldarion…

Finally, her tutor sighs, steps back. Lets Sasha take a chance to breathe, readjust the _stupid_ dress, shift to a corner of the room where her reflection isn’t being caught by all those _stupid_ mirrors.

‘Why do you hate dancing so much?’

‘I- I don’t.’

‘Stop lying, Sasha. I _assumed_ this would be the one thing I could teach that you might be even slightly interested in, given your… predilection for throwing yourself around like a deranged acrobat. Instead, it seems you’ve suddenly been struck petrified. Do I need to call for a healer and assume you’re suffering under some form of torrid curse, or will you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘I just-’

Sasha stops. Shuffles. Looks anywhere except into her tutor’s burning, burning eyes.

I just don’t like what it means, is all.’ She barely mumbles it.

Eldarion stares, for far, far, _far,_ too long. Sasha feels herself shifting her weight, instinctively, ready to run-

-and then, impossibly, Eldarion’s gaze softens. Just a little.

She steps forward again, places a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha flinches. Eldarion flinches in response barely noticeable except Sasha’s spent far too long studying this woman, and most of the time she may as well be made of marble, stately and serene and uncaring.

Eldarion still does not remove her hand.

‘People will,’ Eldarion begins, and then stops.

Sasha forces herself to look up.

‘People will make all kinds of assumptions, no matter what you do’, she says. ‘A young woman moving in these circles… well, there is a game to be played. We all had to play it.’

 _is she-_ ‘Did you-’

Eldarion continues, apparently unphased by the interruption. ‘Open rebellion will get you nowhere, here. But. Fall into line on the obvious parts, and you’ll find people pay far less attention to whatever you do- or I suspect, in your _specific_ case, not do- on the side. You could be good at this, Sasha. Good enough to get away with rather a lot, if you so choose.’

At this point, Sasha’s _reasonably_ sure they’re having two entirely different conversations. She doesn’t want to _be_ here. She wants to go home, not- not abandon half of herself to play the shiny doll on display up here. But if that’s not an option, if she really is as trapped as she feels-

‘You could dance’, Eldarion says. ‘You could be good at it. Make it mean whatever you want it to mean, whatever everyone else takes from it is entirely on them. It will be something to do- something to talk about, something to occupy your time with, something no one will question. You can keep moving, Sasha. Here, at least, you could be yourself.’

‘No, I can’t. this is just- it’s a ploy to get me to play by your rules, innit? I don’t _want_ to, Eldarion. I don’t want to learn this stupid dance and I’m not gonna suddenly start playing nice just ‘cause you finally realised I don’t want to sit at a desk and embroider bloody handkerchiefs all day!’

Eldarion clearly bites back something scathing. Sasha’s a bit disappointed, to be honest. It’d probably be interesting to see her lose her temper. As long as she didn’t end up dead, splatted into bits across several planes or whatever. Wizards, right?

‘I am _trying_ to make this easier for you’, she says. ‘I know you’ve come from a… rough… situation-’

‘No. Stop. This? This here? This is your problem, okay? Yeah, Barrett’s the one causing my problems, but you could’ve helped me _leave_. All you’ve done is changed the view out the window. And now you want me to play _nice_ and dress up all pretty, and- and sooner or later you’ll just send me to another prison.’

‘Sasha-’

‘And y’know what happens then? Someone looks at this stupid dress you’ve given me and all these _ridiculous_ lessons and they decide I’m someone I’m not, and then Barrett decides I’m more valuable _there_ and then I’m stuck. Proper like. So no, I’m not gonna play nice just cos it’s convenient for you.’

‘If you don’t compromise somewhere, you won’t have any choice at all.’

Sasha snorts. ‘Like you’d know.’

Eldarion doesn’t reply, this time.

‘Look, I’m not- I’m not doing this, okay? I’m not gonna accept that I’m stuck. Not yet. Maybe, later, if I do, I’ll find somewhere to compromise, but it’s not gonna be on _this_. And until then there’s no reason for you to bother with me! I’m not playing your stupid games, Eldarion!’

Eldarion _crumples_.

Sasha blinks, and by the time she’s properly registered what she saw, her tutor is marble again, steel in her spine and coiled like a spring in a way Sasha actually (almost) respects.

Eldarion takes her elbow and leads her to a small, delicate set of chairs tucked in the corner, then eyes her with uncharacteristic intensity.

‘I can’t fix this, Sasha. I can’t change the world on my own, no matter how much I might want to.’ Eldarion is turning one of her rings around on her finger- a nervous tic, perhaps, or some kind of direct association? She stops as soon as she notes Sasha’s eyes on it, though. ‘But I am here to help, however I can. I believe- I believe I know where you are coming from, at least in this, and I _can_ show you how to make this work. But I can’t do that if you aren’t willing to work with me.’

‘Yeah, you say that, but you seem real keen for me to play exactly by everyone else’s rules. I don’t like people, Eldarion. That isn’t gonna change. I definitely don’t like people like _that_ , and I don’t see what the point of all this’- she gestures, emphatically, towards what’s basically an entire ballroom for the pair of them- ‘is other than for you to try and force me into changing my mind about that.’

‘You really don’t want to… find anyone? Ever?’

‘No! Of course not! Who does?’

‘… most people.’

‘yeah, well, most people are stupid.’

Eldarion’s lips twitch, ever so slightly. ‘And you aren’t… worried?’

‘About what?’

‘Being alone?’

Sasha shrugs. ‘I’ve got Brock. That’s always been enough, before.’

And it has been. Brock is one of _her_ people- really, the only person she’d say is _hers_ , so far, and that’s the case even when he finds himself a cute boy to flirt with. She has his back and he has hers, no matter what the world throws at them. That’s far more important than any kind of romance, which in her experience only ever causes trouble. It’s certainly more important than sex, which she’s pretty damn sure is disgusting and weird and a complete and utter waste of time. Eldarion seems almost… surprised, in a way, by her confidence, and the swiftness of her answer. For the first time, Sasha finds herself wondering if her tutor’s got a lady or gentleman or someone in between waiting for her, somewhere. She wonders what type of person that might be. Probably not someone who would appreciate a scrawny street kid from Other London hanging around the place. Probably not someone Sasha would appreciate, given that she doesn’t like Eldarion very much anyway. She should probably care more. She doesn’t.

They fall into silence for a while. Sasha tries not to fidget, and mostly fails. Eventually, Eldarion speaks.

‘No dancing?’

‘No dancing.’

‘I could teach you French instead’, Eldarion offers. ‘Could be useful, if you and… Brock, was it? Make your way out of London. One day.’

Sasha pauses, then, ever so slowly, finds herself beginning to smile.

‘That- that’d be well good. Thanks, Eldarion.’

Eldarion smiles, almost, and nods, and it isn’t until she goes to fetch textbooks full of verbs that Sasha realises she might have made a mistake.

(Sasha learns French, eventually. Badly, but she learns it. She does not learn how to dance.)

**Author's Note:**

> Eldarion: I, a distinguished lesbian, definitely understand where this child is coming from in regards to her issues with societal expectations. I can give her advice on how to navigate this difficult experience.
> 
> Sasha: hi I'm a disaster aroace and I do not care about social expectations in the slightest
> 
> Eldarion: I do not understand where this child is coming from and I have absolutely no idea how to respond to this


End file.
